


Forts And Stars

by kuonji



Series: Never Too Late [1]
Category: Batman - All Media Types, Batman: The Animated Series, DCU, DCU (Animated)
Genre: Character Study, Families of Choice, Father-Son Relationship, Gen, Kid Fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-22
Updated: 2014-12-22
Packaged: 2018-03-02 19:52:59
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,254
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2824109
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kuonji/pseuds/kuonji
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>Batman's partner (in training) wasn't scared of the dark, of course.  But Dick was sometimes... uncomfortable with how empty the room felt.  He couldn't hear a thing aside from his own breathing and the moaning gusts of wind.  Their nearest neighbor was a mile away.  He knew that Bruce and Alfred were somewhere in the Manor, but from all that he could see and hear, he could be the only person left in the whole world.</i>
</p><p> </p><p>Dick can't sleep.  So he goes looking for company.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Forts And Stars

Dick couldn't sleep.

His room was too big, too dark, too quiet.  His _bed_ was too big.  Space had always been a precious commodity when he was growing up -- the luxury of an extra square foot in the cramped trailers, the prestige of having longer practice times in the indoor tent areas, premium ticket prices for the better seats in the ring.

When he'd turned six, his parents had cleared out the storage ledge at the front of the trailer and turned it into a bunk for Dick.  Before that, he'd had a single cabinet to keep his stuff and slept nights with his parents.  Even when he was older, on the colder days, they'd all still slept together in the big bed to conserve heating fuel.

His room now, with the pretty murals and big windows, felt vastly empty.

Batman's partner (in training) wasn't scared of the dark, of course.  But Dick was sometimes... uncomfortable with how empty the room felt.  He couldn't hear a thing aside from his own breathing and the moaning gusts of wind.  Their nearest neighbor was a mile away.  He knew that Bruce and Alfred were somewhere in the Manor, but from all that he could see and hear, he could be the only person left in the whole world.

Quietly, he climbed out of bed, using his toes to find the fuzzy slippers with lion's heads that Alfred had bought for him.  He went to the window casement and climbed up to kneel on the cushions so he could peer outside.  The air was colder here.  If he put his fingers on the glass, he could feel his body heat leeching through the tips.  He hummed softly to himself and danced his fingers across the panes, pretending to play the cheerful calliope music that he still sometimes expected to hear whenever he spotted a crowd or a shift of colors or passed by a movie theater with the scent of popcorn and hot dogs and pretzels drifting out to the street.

A brief flurry of screeches sounded outside, drawing his attention.  For a moment, he stared outwards, holding his breath so he wouldn't fog the glass.  But he saw nothing except the usual distant pinpricks of city lights, and he heard no more disturbances.  Maybe a couple of the bats had had a fight, and it had been resolved quickly.  Dick smiled at that.  The bats were like a huge family, each of them with their own activities once they departed the cave, but always coming back together at dawn to sleep the day away together side by side.

He heaved a sigh and slid down on the cushions to prop his shoulder against the corner of the casement.

If Bruce followed his usual schedule, and if nothing major had happened tonight, he would have come home an hour ago.  Dick wondered if the man was asleep yet.

Making a decision, he crossed back to his bed for his robe, hanging off of one bedpost.  He slung it on as he headed out into the hallway, closing his door behind him slowly so that it wouldn't slam.

There weren't any windows down this hall.  A couple of nightlights along the floor made it visible enough to navigate without turning on the chandeliers overhead.  Dick padded his way to the wide staircase at the end of the hall.  He knew Bruce's study was one floor up, and his bedroom was next door to it, even though Dick had never been inside.  Alfred had taken him on a tour of the place the morning after he'd moved in.

Dick had explored the Manor on his own, too, a few times, but a lot of the doors to what Alfred referred to as 'guest rooms' were kept closed.  Although Bruce had told him this was his home now, Dick hadn't felt like he had the right to open doors without asking.  You weren't supposed to ever enter another person's trailer or tent without permission, after all.  That was important when it was so easy to overhear your neighbors through metal sidings and thin tarp.  It didn't matter that the Manor had to be about the size of the whole of Haly's Circus.  Dick didn't ever want to disappoint his parents (or Bruce) by acting rude.

Anyway, he kind of liked keeping the mystery.  As long as he wasn't sure what was in them, he could imagine rooms full of treasure -- gold and jewels and old swords and helmets like from King Arthur.  In fact, one of the rooms that Dick had already seen _was_ something like a treasure room.  It had all of the Wayne family dishes and things in tall wood cases with glass fronts.  Alfred said the collection was worth half a million dollars.

Reaching the stairs, Dick charged up them with one hand sliding along the top of the bannister, curled into a flat oblong.  He ran his nails lightly over the polished surface, like a race car -- like the Batmobile! -- speeding along a narrow bridge.  He made the sound effects under his breath, ending by jumping the 'Batmobile' over the decorative knob at the top of the railing, sending it hurtling... back to the Batcave, he supposed.

He used his momentum to whip into a leaping roundabout kick, one that would strike just below the ribs on an adult male.  It wouldn't be enough to really injure anyone badly, but with boots on, he could knock the wind out of someone.  Plus, doubled up from the kick, a man's face would be low enough for Dick to throw a full punch.

He still wasn't used to that.  Using his fists.  He was more comfortable using his feet.  The way he was used to moving, and because of his height, he could kick a bad guy in the face more easily than punch him.  Batman said that was fine, as long as he knew how to do both and could throw a good punch when that was the better way.

Dick punched the air a few times now, kicked again (from a standing position this time), and ended with a forward handspring that would tackle some bad guy to the ground if he had been unlucky enough to be standing at the end of the third floor eastern hallway of Wayne Manor at roughly an hour and a half past midnight.

No one was there, of course, so Dick dropped into a forward roll, letting the momentum pop him to his feet a moment later.

The exercise had warmed him, and the place felt less empty around him now.  Dick grinned and retrieved his right slipper, which had come off when he did his second kick.  When he straightened, he spotted a dim line of light coming from under a door midway down the hall.  Bruce was still up.

Just like that, Dick was suddenly nervous again.  He was still trying to figure out how to act around Bruce, even though he'd been living in the Manor for almost six months now.

When they were training, it was almost like working with his mom and dad again.  Learning a new routine and practicing a known one were familiar parts of his day.  The calls of "Ready!" and "Again!", of "Higher!", "Knees up!", "Protect your wrists!", those were easy to understand.  But the other times he spent with Bruce -- dinner and parties and the occasional ball game -- still felt awkward half the time.  Bruce was real friendly, but he often seemed surprised when Dick tried to have a conversation with him.

Bruce wasn't like the other grownups Dick had known.  When he was Batman, he talked to Dick almost like another adult.  When he was just Bruce, he hardly talked to Dick at all.  He never cracked jokes to make Dick laugh.  He never ruffled Dick's hair or picked him up or teased him like Dick was used to from the circus folk.  In fact, Bruce rarely touched Dick at all, except for sometimes when they were practicing sparring or fencing or something together, and they'd roughhouse a little.  Dick had never thought about it before, but every person in Haly's Circus would've patted Dick on the shoulder or chucked his chin or given him a hug without even hesitating.  Dick missed that a lot.

The only other person Dick saw every day was Alfred, and he was even worse than Bruce that way.  The first time Dick had given the older man a hug, he'd gone all stiff and weird.  He'd been real nice about it, but Dick got the impression that he wasn't used to hugs and maybe didn't really enjoy them that much.  Dick thought Alfred liked it better just to be treated like what he was -- a butler.  Only, Dick wasn't used to having a butler.  He didn't know what to say when Alfred asked him if he wanted anything, like Dick was supposed to tell him what to do.

Dick had made friends at school, but he'd learned pretty quickly that 'normal' people didn't play-fight or tumble over each other just for laughs.  The closest thing he'd come to was watching how the members of the athletics teams treated each other -- but he and Bruce had agreed that he couldn't join any of them.  People might figure out he was Batman's partner -- if he was ever allowed to actually go out, anyway.

Slowly, he made his way toward Bruce's study.  He kept his breathing steady and thought about blending into the shadows, keeping his footsteps light by using all of the muscles in his body and bending his toes and arch and ankle like he'd been taught.  Stealth required a lot of concentration.  It was almost like flying on the ground.

When he reached the door, he stood for a long time.  He noticed how the light made the lion heads at the fronts of his slippers show up brown and fierce in front, then fade again to nondescript blue and gray on the sides.

Finally, he knocked.

"Come in."

Even though he'd been expecting it, he was startled to hear Bruce's voice.  Startled and relieved.  The illusion of being utterly alone had started to seem too real.  Suddenly eager to see another living face, he twisted the doorknob and pushed the big wooden door open a little too quickly, almost tumbling inside in his haste.

Bruce sat at his desk in front of the room's tall latticed window, framed by long curtains that Alfred drew open in the mornings and closed again in the afternoon.  He had a bunch of papers in front of him, lit by a desk lamp.  Light sconces on the walls were just bright enough for Dick to make out the bookcases filled with books of all colors and sizes.  Dick shut the door behind him, feeling like he should keep the light closed in, as if it might leak out and leave them in the dark.

"Dick!"  Bruce stood and came around the big desk to him.  "Is something wrong?"

Dick shifted on his feet on the thick rug that covered the floor.  "I couldn't sleep," he said, embarrassed at Bruce's worried expression.

"Oh."

He sensed that Bruce was at a loss, so he asked, "Could I stay here?  For a while?

"Uh.  Okay."  Bruce looked around, then went to a door on the far end and opened it.  "You can sleep in my bed.  I'll take you back when I'm done here."

"Okay," Dick said, even though that wasn't what he'd meant at all.  He looked at the piles of important-looking papers on Bruce's desk, wondering what Bruce had been reading.  Dick probably wouldn't understand them.  Aside from being Batman, Bruce had a whole other life that Dick couldn't really imagine.  Dick knew that running WayneTech was something like how Pop Haly and his assistant handled all the 'business stuff' for the Circus.  Only a lot bigger.  He'd always been told to stay out of Pop Haly's office, and he was pretty sure it would be better for him to stay out of Bruce's way, too, when he was working.  At least, he thought, if he left the door of the bedroom open, he'd be able to see and hear Bruce from there.

Despite the comforting thought, he faltered at the doorway.  The room wasn't that large, as rooms in the Manor went, but after the cozy office, it seemed cold and vast in comparison.  Floor-to-ceiling windows stood at the far end, with hints of a balcony beyond the filmy drapes.  Dark masses of furniture hunched in the corners, while lines of white and yellow leaped out from pieces of artwork hung up around the shadowy walls.  The bed itself was a smooth waist-high expanse that looked large enough to swallow him.

"What's wrong?" Bruce asked, noticing his hesitation.

"Maybe I could stay here.  On the couch," he said quickly, trying to make it sound like a suggestion and not a plea.

"Well..."  Putting one hand to the back of his head, Bruce turned to look at the tan leather couch next to the hallway entrance.  Maybe he didn't relish the idea of a boy getting it dirty.  "I still have some things to read over.  Can you sleep with the light on?"

As it happened, that wasn't a problem.  Dick could (and did) sleep through brass bands and fireworks without much trouble.  "I'll be okay," was what he answered, relieved.

"All right."  Bruce still looked uncertain.  "Hang on," he said, before heading into the bedroom himself.  Untucking one end of the huge comforter, he whipped it out with a flourish and carried it back in both arms.  "This should keep you warm."  A proud smile lit up his face, and Dick laughed in delighted response.  He loved it when Bruce was kind of goofy.

Forgetting for a moment all thought of damaging expensive leather seats, he took a running leap and bounced onto the middle cushion.  "Over here!" he called.

A sly grin was the only warning he got before the comforter somehow whipped around in a long tail and knocked him flat across the couch.

"You know what Alfred says about shoes on the furniture," Bruce warned.

Giggling now, Dick kicked off his slippers and waved his feet in the air.  "Better?" he asked.

In answer, Bruce flared the comforter out like a cape and settled it over Dick.  "Here you go."

"Oh!"  Dick held the comforter away from his face and stared in awe.  Filtered through the silky fine fabric, the light from the lamps turned red and luminous.  Dick could see the wispy shapes of individual feathers inside as if he had x-ray vision.  Tight stitching separated the material into pieces like a patchwork tent.  The thing was certainly as big as one.

He popped his head out in time to see Bruce gathering up the hanging edge.  Although close to feather-light, the part that hung over the couch was pulling it down.

"Hey, come here."  Dick slid down onto the floor and gestured for Bruce to join him under the huge stretch of fabric and down stuffing.  Bruce looked confused, but he lifted up his part of the comforter and scooted down to sit on the ground next to Dick, their backs resting against the front of the couch.  Dick pulled it over both their heads.  "Look," he said, pointing to the way the light glowed and how the shadows made shapes like clouds where the stuffing was thinner.  It was like looking at one of those Chinese paper lanterns, except from the other side.

Bruce still looked confused, though he smiled tentatively, obviously not seeing what Dick had at all.

"It's pretty," Dick pointed out, chagrined that he had to explain.  He felt dumb now.  Bruce -- in his suits and leather shoes and place settings with four forks -- probably never sat on the ground like this and wasn't interested in silly lights and whatever.  Almost, Dick preferred spending time with Batman.  Bruce in his 'other suit' was stern and scary, but Dick knew what to expect there.  "Never mind."

"No.  It is pretty, isn't it?"  Holding the comforter away from his face with one arm, Bruce looked around.  His eyes darted from one place to another at first, then slowed to take it all in.  He smiled.  Bruce and Alfred didn't smile enough, in his opinion.  Even if Bruce was just humoring him right now, Dick liked that expression on him.

Dick leaned against Bruce's side.  Bruce was taller than his dad was-- had been.  But sitting down, the difference wasn't that big anymore.  Dick could just put the top of his head against the bend of Bruce's shoulder.

Just as he was getting comfortable, though, he felt Bruce shift.

"Do you want to lie down now?" Bruce asked, already lifting the comforter up so he could get out.

"Okay."  Dick tried not to feel disappointed.  He _was_ starting to feel tired, after all.  He climbed back onto the couch seat and pulled the comforter around him, with Bruce helping.  When he looked up, Bruce was smiling at him, looking happy and, and... maybe he would finally...  "Bruce, can we go _out_ soon?" he blurted.  "I'm ready."

The smile dropped from Bruce's face.  He was silent for a long time.  Dick knew he was going to avoid the question again.

"I can do it," he insisted.  "I handled myself alone before, remember?  When I found Zucco.  I kicked that guy, and I saved that lady."

Bruce only sighed, not answering the same tired argument.  In spite of all the training, all the workouts and practice-fights and memorizing street maps and names of chemicals and things -- despite all that, Dick was starting to wonder if Bruce would ever actually let him outside the Cave.  Every time he asked, Bruce refused to answer.

Dick turned his face into the couch cushions and pulled the comforter up over his head.  It didn't matter.  Batman would never think he was ready.  This was all just an elaborate excuse, just flash and powder and collapsible swords to fool little kids.  "You promised we would catch him," he accused under his breath, inside the cocoon he had made for himself.

Tears prickled down his face sideways.  He started to wipe them dry with a fold of the comforter before he remembered that it was Bruce's.  That would probably be disrespectful or something.  He used the sleeve of his pajamas instead.

Bruce didn't answer -- if he had even heard.  After a while, the sound of retreating footsteps told him the man had left.  Dick pushed the comforter back just enough to give himself an airhole, but he didn't allow his face to show.  He breathed slowly, watching the slight shifts in light as Bruce's occasional movements blocked the wall sconces.  Bruce's chair squeaked softly and the raspy _flit-flutt_ of papers being shuffled eventually lulled him.

He must have fallen asleep, because the next thing he knew, he felt cool air, and then the sensation of being picked up and carried.  He felt himself cradled against a familiar, well-muscled chest as they moved, and he shifted sleepily within those arms to hug the strong neck tight.  Eyes still closed, he murmured, "I can walk, Da--" before snapping awake.  "Huh?"  In reflex, he pushed off with forearms and knees, almost overbalancing the hold on him.

Despite a brief fumble, Bruce didn't drop him.  Well, of course he wouldn't.  He was _Batman_.  Dick felt his cheeks heat up.  Bruce's expression stiffened in awkwardness as well.

"Sorry.  You were asleep, and I just thought...  Do you want to walk?"

Dick nodded quickly, not meeting Bruce's eyes.  Bruce let go so that he could slide down, flinching at the feel of cold hardwood under his bare feet.  His slippers would still be in Bruce's office.  Out of the corner of his eye, Dick saw Bruce raise a hand to hover behind Dick's back before dropping it.

His guardian followed him down the dark stairs.  Bruce always forgot to turn on the lights, and Dick had gotten used to it.  A few weeks ago, they'd had a party in the ballroom, and it had been really weird to see the foyer and most of the first floor of the Manor all lit up and filled with laughing strangers.

Dick half-expected Bruce to turn around once they reached his bedroom door, but he followed Dick in and, after Dick had climbed into the large bed, he even helped tuck Dick in.

He saw Bruce glance at the space above the fireplace where the picture of his parents used to be.  They'd taken it down after Dick decided that yes, he wanted to stay for good.  Soon after that, Bruce's lawyers had gotten some things signed so that Dick was now Bruce's 'ward' -- whatever that meant.  Bruce had explained it as, something like a son... but only until Dick was grown up.

Which was fine.  Because Bruce was really nice, and he knew a lot of stuff, and Batman was amazing.  But Dick already had a dad.  He didn't...  He didn't _need_ another one.

For now, Bruce said, they were friends.  And once Dick was ready, they were going to be partners.

That is, if Bruce would ever let him.

Bruce stayed where he was, on the side of the bed.  He didn't move to kiss him goodnight, or give him a hug, or squeeze his hand like Dad used to, but he watched Dick like he wanted to say something.

So Dick pulled his arms out on top of the blanket, where he was more comfortable, and asked, "What?"

Bruce got down on his knees and laid his chin on his arms, making their eyes even.  "Do you really still want to be my partner?  Out there?"

Dick held his breath for one shocked moment, then let it out explosively in one word: "Yes!"  He sat up, throwing his bedclothes in all directions.  "You mean it, Bruce?"

Bruce looked taken aback for a moment.  But he smiled and said, "Tomorrow night's a full moon.  We'll have plenty of light to see."

"Yes!"  He couldn't believe it.  He was really going to--

"No fighting," Bruce warned.  "I just want to get you used to moving around out there.  Gotham's a lot more complicated when you have to think about it in three dimensions.  We'll wear stealth gear."

"I can _do_ it," he insisted.  He'd dreamed about doing this.  He'd been born to do this.

At that, Bruce actually laughed.  "I believe you.  And once we're _both_ sure you can handle it, we can start thinking about a costume for you.  And a name."

"I already have a name."  Dick pointed up at the mural that played across the wall above the door.  "I'll be Robin Hood."

Bruce looked up to where he pointed.  It was too dark to really see it, but this had been his room, once, too.  "You're not thinking of stealing from the rich to feed the poor, are you?"

"Well, no.  But he didn't just do that, right?  He protected the people who couldn't protect themselves.  Like you do."

"I suppose so.  Did you want forest green for your costume?"

Dick had thought about this, too.  A lot.  "Yes.  But mostly red.  And gold."

"Red?  Like Will Scarlet, you mean?"  It was dark, so Dick couldn't see Bruce's expression, but he sounded confused.  Dick laughed.

"No, like a robin.  The bird.  And gold because..."  Dick shrugged.  Because that's what the Flying Graysons had worn for their last show -- bright red with gold design work.  In fact, Dick had helped his parents design that costume.  His mom always said-- had said that he had a good eye for fabrics.

"Hm, that's...  We'll have to talk about the costume some more tomorrow."

"We can start now," he argued, excited at the idea.  He propelled himself out of bed with one hand, intent on finding paper and colored pencils and--

Bruce stopped him with a fast arm block, knocking him back onto the bed.

"Oof!"  He bounced once, then blinked.

Bruce shook a finger at him.  "I said we'll start _tomorrow_ ," he repeated in a lower register that sent brief shivers down Dick's back.  Dick gaped.  Bruce _never_ scared him.  Then he realized-- oh.  That was _Batman_ talking now.

He nodded meekly.

Bruce regarded him for a few more moments.  Then he pulled the covers up to tuck Dick back in.

"I think now's a good time to practice those relaxing exercises," he suggested in the same tone of voice he used to say, _"Let's try that strike one more time."_

Dick started to argue, but decided he didn't want Bruce to take back what he'd said about going out tomorrow.  So he obediently closed his eyes and tried to blank his mind.  He concentrated on his breathing, trying to consciously regulate it, then slow it -- and it seemed to work.  Despite his excitement, he felt himself starting to let his tiredness take over.  It helped that he could sense Bruce there, by Dick's bedside, a solid, strong presence.

Just as Dick was dropping off again, he felt fingers stroking through his hair.  Nearly asleep, he could pretend the fingers were someone else's, that _he_ was somewhere else, some _when_ else.

Or, he could... not.

Before he could quite make up his mind which he wanted more, he slid into a dreamless sleep.

 

END.

 

**Author's Note:**

> If you enjoyed this story, you might try these:  
> [Dreams By Moonlight](http://kuonji14.livejournal.com/56845.html>The%20Correlation%20Of%20Youth%20To%20Maturity</a>%20\(Batman\),%20by%20kuonji%20%0A<a%20href=) (Cardcaptor Sakura), by kuonji  
> [The Problem With Chocolate](http://www.fanfiction.net/s/2768074/1/) (Batman), by Tatsuyuri  
> [Shattered](http://bradygirl-12.livejournal.com/708946.html) (Batman), by Bradygirl  
> [Falling](http://archiveofourown.org/works/170918) (Batman), by laceymcbain  
> [Too Big](http://niftywithan.livejournal.com/20622.html) (Batman), by niftywithaN


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